


Never Forget

by LeafZelindor



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Season/Series 02 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 21:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafZelindor/pseuds/LeafZelindor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock doesn't delete John after all fall, he never means to forget. But then he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Forget

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nihlyria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nihlyria/gifts).



> birthday gift fic for the Sherlock to my Watson. <3 you dear.

Something was missing. Something vital was missing. Every time he tried to think to hard on it though his mind froze.

He had his work. His beautiful work. The pawns were falling one by one. He'd gotten the one who'd gone for Mrs. Hudson. He'd gotten the one on Lestrade. There was another, a major player. He couldn't recall who Moran had been aiming for. It bothered him to not have all the pieces.

A lot of pieces were missing. There were many things he thought he should remember from before the fall. He had blank spots by the dozens. He knew he should remember. There was something important about those blank spots.

Still he worked. Picking apart Moriarty's web of men. There was a pleasure in it. His mind wasn't screaming that it needed stimulation.

Molly occasionally still looked very sad. It happened less and less over the almost two years he'd been working at his task. Most often she was sad after she went to meet some friend for tea. He sounded like a nice friend from the way she talked. He was married and they were purely professional friends. Molly never tried hard to dress up for him so there wasn't even a touch of romantic interest on her part.

They'd had a talk, early on. Sherlock had found himself compelled to explain to Molly that his disinterest wasn't from a simple lack of attraction, but more that she was female. He saw her as a sister. He always had. Apparently this revelation had made her understand some things far better than before. Sherlock didn't understand why. It made work easier though, and that mattered.

“So John was telling me that he and Mary are trying for a baby. He's worried he's to old.” Molly's nattering broke through his thought process. Sherlock glanced up at her, trying to read her face. She wasn't offended, and if anything appeared to be unsurprised that he hadn't really been listening.

“Why does it matter if some, acquaintance of yours is going to try to procreate? What does it have to do with tracking down Moran?” He asked a touch sharply, now the surprise flickered across her face.

“Sherlock, do you not remember John?” She asked slowly, a flicker of concern across her face, as if pieces of a large puzzle had dropped together for her.

“I have no idea who this John you keep mentioning is. Now if it doesn't have to do with my search do keep quiet.” Sherlock twisted back to the computer he'd been working at for hours. He missed the pitying look on her face, but found that his brain nagged. As if there *was* something he should remember.

The air around Molly was sad now, he pushed that aside. He needed to find Moran.

They didn't speak of the incident again. Molly still met with her friend, though a bit less frequently. Sherlock noticed she'd stopped talking about this John fellow all together. For some reason, that bothered him. Not enough to dwell on, but enough that stray thoughts would strike him during lulls in his work.

One day, unexpectedly this man, John, showed up in the labs. Sherlock was tucked in a quiet corner. He usually worked from there. Nobody noticed him and it was shadowed keeping him hidden if Lestrade happened to stop by with questions for Molly. When that happened Sherlock simply fell still and waited for the generally brief conversations to pass. People did not notice what they didn't expect after all.

This John had come in with an uneven step. There was the click of a cane. Molly greeted him brightly enough to distract Sherlock, who glanced up at the interloper. Short, blond, held himself like formal military, bushy mustache growing on his face. Something stirred. He wanted to say something to the man, he wanted to.... Ask him why he'd grown that, thing.

Why? Sherlock frowned to himself, shrinking down slightly to remain out of notice as Molly hurried to grab her coat. The man glanced around the room, as they all did, not noticing that someone was actually in the corner. Blue eyes, sad, but only because of this room, why? He was well dressed, his wife took care of his coats. The ring on his finger was lightly damaged, he took it off regularly; not because of infidelity, he worked with his hands. Soft cuticles, signs of often washing, a doctor then.

There was a feeling, that he should know much of this. Not all, some was new. Why the mustache? Where did the ring come from? Sherlock tried not to shake his head. He didn't want to be noticed. He should know who this man was, why didn't he? He closed his eyes, drawing back into his mind palace. Sorting. Why did he know this man? This John. What was it that made him so familiar.

Nothing. Not a single entry. Had he deleted the man? If so, why?

Molly said something light and the pair left. Sherlock stared where the man had been standing. He was confused. This was, unusual. It troubled him, something so important...

All the blank spots revolved around that man. The blond doctor named John. Sherlock raked his hand through his hair in frustration. What was so important. Why can't he remember this man. Why! He hit the desk briefly then took a deep breath. He couldn't be distracted right now. He was on Moran's tail. Just a bit more needed to be uncovered. Sherlock forced himself to focus on the real problem. The other was going nowhere, it was not important now. No matter how much his brain kept saying it was.

Sherlock had never found himself so distracted by a problem. He muttered to himself and sank back sulkily in the chair. Molly came back, hanging up her jacket and scarf, brushing snow from her hair. “Who is he?” Sherlock asked a bit sharply.

Molly blinked and then gave him a curious look. “Sherlock?”

“That doctor. Who is he?” He managed to keep the note of desperation out of his voice. He couldn't help how it was driving him to distraction, he had to know.

For several moments Molly was completely silent, staring at him as if surprised. “And here I thought you weren't talking about him because you didn't want to..”

Sherlock frowned at the woman. Was she being deliberately obtuse? He shook his head. “Molly what do you mean?”

“You don't remember John Watson?” She asked slowly, her expression had actually dropped some. Sherlock frowned, the name seemed familiar. Maybe he had deleted the man. Obviously though he was important, she was upset by his deletion, not amused.

“Should I?” He asked slowly. Molly's hand was moving before either of them realized it and the slap made his ears ring.

“How could you Sherlock! I can forgive a lot of things but to delete John completely?!” She stamped her foot. He blinked several times, trying to reorient himself.

“I don't understand. I...” He froze under her furious look. When Molly was rightfully angry it was somewhat startling.

“John Watson was only your best friend Sherlock. He's had the hardest time of anyone over your fake death. Mary tells me he's *still* not over it!” She crossed her arms and pinned him with a look. She would make a terrifying and strong mother one day. “How could you delete him!” Whirling she moved to the computer and started to type, a blog appeared on the screen. “Read it. Remember you complete idiot!”

“But I've almost...”

“Moran can wait. Read the bloody blog. You... you...” Molly sputtered now, her anger either overwhelming her or losing steam because she's to upset to express it. A quick glance said it was the second. She was hurt. He'd hurt her before, he'd resolved not to be so callous to this kind woman again. Sinking into the swivel chair he started to read the blog she'd brought up on the screen. He didn't move again until he'd read every entry. He remembered much of the contents. He tried to remove the blanks in his memories. Obviously this man had been important. He saw no clear reason why he'd delete him. A sandwich appeared at his left, along with some tea.

“He loved you, still does. I think you loved him.” Molly sounded resigned. “He was your world... He's why you came to me when you figured out what Moriarty wanted from you...” 

“Why would I delete him...” He paused, then looked up at her. “When I hit my head...”

“It's so... specific though.” She frowned, then thought. “You went and saw him, remember? After they buried you, and he was visiting your stone...”

Sherlock couldn't remember. It sounded, familiar. He couldn't remember though. Perhaps there was another reason. “...Perhaps I deleted him to protect him.” 

Molly let her hand cover Sherlocks for a moment, eyes sad. “You have to remember, please Sherlock. He was so good for you...”

“I'll try.” He agreed quietly. He felt he had to. “After Moran.”

Molly simply nodded, the nudged the sandwich at him and moved off to her own station. She had her usual work to do. Sherlock looked at the sandwich, and almost opened his mouth to protest. “You need to eat you idiot.” A voice floated through his mind, the voice made him happy. He ate.

Three weeks, he managed to push that John Watson from his mind for three weeks. Moran was dead, finally. Morarty's web? gone. It was safe to go home. Safe to see Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, speak to Mycroft in a manner that was less than code. To return to Baker street. Home...

Home felt, empty. The flat was missing several things he could remember. Mrs Hudson had gotten over her initial surprise at his return, and had become mothering once again. There was food in the fridge, his violin rested on it's stand. He had missed it. But something else was missing. Something that, brought life to the flat.

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock yelled down the stairs. He heard her shuffling briefly and she appeared at the bottom.

“Yes dear? What is it?”

“Something is missing. From the flat.” Sherlock quickly clarified. “I cannot sort out what it is...”

“Perhaps John took something when he left? I'm sure he didn't mean to... Have you seen him yet?” Her inquiry startled him. Sherlock for a few moments was at a loss of what to say.

“I, no, I have not yet.” He answered quietly. He wasn't sure he wanted to. He couldn't remember much about the man. He had the second hand of Molly and the blog in his mind. He couldn't remember any of it for himself though.

“You should Sherlock, it just isn't the same without you both here.” Mrs Hudson shook her head. “He married a nice girl though. I think you'll like Mary...”

“mm.” Sherlock turned and whirled back into the flat. Was that what was missing? John? How could a person cause so much upheaval! And who the hell was Mary? His wife it seemed. Sherlock couldn't think of ever having met her. Must have been after the fall...

He was still brooding hours later when Mrs Hudson brought up some food. He ignored her though as she prattled and stared at his laptop screen. He'd checked on this blog that John had. There was a dramatic drop off in updates after the date Sherlock had... 

He shook his head, sometimes it was hard to think about any of the events. Not because they were painful, they just seemed to slip away. He couldn't concentrate on them. He knew he'd jumped. He knew he'd done it to save people. He could remember, waking later. Molly making sure that nobody saw him wake. Dear Molly so good to him. He remembered checking on each of his friends in disguise. None had noticed. The spot where John apparently was, had haze in it. He couldn't see clearly. No other blank in which John resided seemed to clear though.

Sherlock kicked over the footstool. This was so frustrating! Mrs Hudson made some sort of chiding statement, the stool was righted and she headed downstairs. Sherlock ignored the food, the tea, and stared at the fireplace. Trying to remember.

He met Mary first actually. It was somewhat accidental. He'd been coming down the stairs to ask Mrs Hudson what she'd done with his experiments. A pretty blonde woman stood in the entry taking her gloves off. Mrs Hudson was chatting with her lightly and glanced back at Sherlock. “Oh! Mary, you haven't met Sherlock yet have you? I know John told you about him...”

“Sherlock? But..” The confusion was evident on her face. She turned behind her, and Sherlock's eyes tracked to the form entering the doorway.

“Mrs Hudson you need to ge...” John froze, his blue eyes tracking. A range of emotions flashed in a moment. Then Sherlock found himself stumbling back, hand on his jaw.

“John!” Two female voices rang out. The doctor hadn't come after him, he was shaking his hand out, and watching Sherlock closely.

“You Bloody Idiot” John's voice bit out. It was a low growl, it triggered a flood. Sherlock sank down, memories crashing around him, this man, this man had been his best friend. His blogger. This man had been, his world. Doctor John H. Watson. The person he'd hurt most of all with his death, and whom he wanted most to protect.

“John he didn't tell you?! I thought you knew!” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. Mary was checking her husband's fingers gently. John was still staring at Sherlock, anger bleeding away to disbelief, to quiet joy. Sherlock was to lost in a sea of “John” in his mind. The memories washed over him. Grey eyes fell closed as he began to automatically categorize everything. Of course he didn't delete John. He couldn't deliberately do that. He never had deleted anything about John, ever. His best friend. A man he loved more than life itself.

“Tell me what?” Conversation continued around him, though Sherlock vaguely noticed that someone had knelt beside him. Greatcoat still around shoulders, it must be John. He filed that away. John was healthy, likely happy. He was married. They were doing well. He shouldn't have come back. He shouldn't get in the way. Sherlock stiffened as a hand touched his shoulder. One that didn't have a ring on it.

“Sherlock?” His voice was like thunder. Grey flicked up to meet Blue. Odd, usually he looked down at John. 

“I'm sorry.” Sherlock managed lowly. His voice, hitched a little in the middle. He knew words weren't enough. He had to say them, to John more than to any of the others. “If I had known, how much you would be effected...”

“Oh Shut up.” John sighed, leaning in, his forehead pressed to Sherlock's. The world shrank, it was only the two of them. “I'll forgive you eventually. It really hurt Sherlock. It hurt, so much. Give me some time.”

“All you need.” Sherlock mumbled. He leaned back against the blond man. It was time to take control of himself again. Things were confusing. Feelings he'd ignored as much as possible before the fall welled up. He couldn't act though. John was married, John was straight. That's why he'd never acted. Vaguely, he was aware of Mrs. Hudson ushering Mary into her little flat. Something about tea. It didn't matter. John was there. Sherlock felt whole.


End file.
